The Rancher's City Girl

by Patricia Johns

“Where am I going to go?”

  “I’ve got my cell phone on me, and—”

  “I’m fine!”

  Eloise smiled. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I won’t be long, okay?”

  She pushed her feet into a pair of old gum boots that looked as if they might be only a little too big, then tugged a rain jacket around her shoulders. Now was not the time for fashion. When she opened the door, a wall of rain drenched her. Shivering against the chill, she pushed outside and slammed the door solidly behind her. From her left, she heard the plaintive bawl.

  “God, let me find it...” she prayed aloud.

  The rain whipped around her, nearly blinding her, and she lifted an arm to shield her face. A tree limb tumbled down the road a few paces away, rolling end over end in the driving wind, and her heart skipped a beat.

  Once more, the calf’s cry came, this time weaker. Stumbling in the direction of the sound, she paused again, straining her eyes against the weather.

  “Eloise!” a voice called, and she turned to see Cory’s big form striding down the road toward her. His coat whipped around him and he broke into a jog.

  “Cory!” she called. “Come here!”

  The big man hurried up, breathing hard. “What happened? Is my dad all right? What are you doing out here?”

  “Listen,” she ordered, putting a hand on his arm. The sound came again, fainter still. “Do you hear that?”

  “A calf,” he said.

  She nodded. “I could hear it inside the house. I was trying to find it.”

  “Well, go back inside. I’m here now.”

  “Let me help you.” She angled her steps in the direction of the sound, ignoring the muttered irritation coming from Cory behind her.

  “I can’t carry both you and a calf,” he retorted.

  “Who says I need carrying?” she shot back. “Come on already!”

  The wind pushed against her, nearly rocking her off her feet more than once, but she pressed on.

  “This way!” Cory yelled into the wind, and Eloise turned her labored steps after him.

  A smudge of brown huddled behind a bush, curled up in the wet grass, its chocolate-brown coat soaked with rain. Thunder crashed overhead and the calf ducked its head and bawled in fear.

  “Hey there, little guy,” Cory murmured, hunkering down low. “It’s okay. Come here...”

  The calf resisted Cory’s attempt to lift it, and Cory muttered again under his breath. Eloise sank down next to the calf and stroked its wet head. It lay next to a broken fence, splinters of wood shooting out like claws. At least they knew how he got out here.

  Cory looked at the broken fence and sighed. “It looks like we lost a few cows through here. Let’s get him over to the barn.”

  The murky shape of the cow barn hunched in the distance, and she looked at the calf uncertainly. “Can we make it?” she asked.

  “No choice.”

  A pair of headlights bounced down the road and slowed as the truck rumbled up to where they crouched. Nora rolled down the window.

  “What’s going on?” she shouted over the gale.

  “A calf,” Cory called back. “We need to get him back to the barn.”

  “Zack is there now—I was just going to pick him up,” she hollered back. “Put the calf in the back, and I’ll take him over.”

  Cory put a gloved hand under the calf’s rump and another under the chest. He grunted as he rose to his feet. The calf wriggled in his arms, and Cory slipped, falling heavily against the broken fence rail. He grimaced and exhaled a huff of air. Overhead, lightning cracked and the calf lurched in his arms.

  “Are you okay?” Eloise shouted over the boom of thunder.

  He nodded and winced as he lifted the calf again. Getting his feet under him, Cory struggled to stand and headed toward the truck. As he hoisted the calf into the back of the vehicle, it scrambled to its feet, hooves skidding against the truck bed.

  “He’ll try to stand up and only hurt himself more. I’d better ride with him,” Cory said, swinging his leg over the side and easing next to the calf.

  The calf didn’t calm down with Cory next to it. It kept pushing its blunt nose toward Eloise, hooves scrambling.

  “Let me help,” Eloise shouted above the wind.

  He called back, “Come on. Get in.”

  He held out a hand. Eloise followed his example and swung her leg up. The truck was slick with mud and rain, and the cold metal chilled her leg through her jeans. Cory grabbed her arm and hauled her over the edge. Eloise settled down next to Cory’s warm side, putting a reassuring hand on the calf’s flank as she caught her breath. The calf leaned closer to her and lay down. She felt a thrill of pride that her presence made a difference for it. The truck lurched forward and crunched along the gravel road toward the barn, and Eloise rocked with the motion of the vehicle, her arm pressed against Cory’s strong body.

  “I wouldn’t have found this one,” Cory said, leaning his head down. “It’s a good thing you heard it.”

  She grinned at him. “I earn my keep.”

  He caught her smile and laughed. “That you do.”

  Cory took his hat off and dropped it onto her head, shielding her face from the lashing rain. Rivulets of water dripped down his face, and he wiped them away with a swipe of his arm.

  “I need to get back to your dad,” Eloise said. “He was fine when I left him, but I don’t like him to be alone in his condition.”

  Cory nodded, and as the truck slowed to a stop in front of the big building, he hopped out.

  “Stay here,” he said and hurried to the barn door. He disappeared for a moment, then reemerged with Zack on his heels. Zack and Cory eased the calf out of the truck; then Nora took over, helping her husband guide the frightened animal into the barn door—to warmth and safety.

  Cory turned back to Eloise. “They’ll take care of it from here,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you back.”

  He held out a hand and steadied her as she climbed down from the truck, the loose boots making her steps awkward when she dropped to the muddy ground.

  “Can you walk it?” he asked. “Zack will need the truck to go pick up some of the ranch hands who are working farther out.”

  “Of course.” Her jeans, now streaked with mud, clung to her legs. She stumbled once and he shot out a hand, grabbing hers in his strong grip. He tugged her closer to him, his broad shoulder sheltering her from some of the stinging rain.

  “Stay close,” he ordered, his voice low and near, and she willingly obliged. Sheets of rain and mist veiled her view. They hurried along the muddy road, heads ducked, but his steely hand wrapped around hers brought her a rush of warm comfort.

  “Almost there,” Cory’s voice rumbled into her ear. “This way.”

  Eloise’s boot slid against some mud, her foot slipping sideways.

  Oh, please let that be mud!

  She clutched at Cory’s arm to regain her balance and her fingers met with something sticky and warm. She knew the feel of blood, and there was lots of it.

  “Cory, you’re hurt!” she gasped.

  Cory felt the back of his arm with his free hand and winced. “I thought I nicked it.”

  “That’s more than a nick.” Eloise couldn’t see much in the falling rain, but she knew how much blood she felt under her fingers. “Let’s get back to the house where I can take a look at that.”

  Cory didn’t put up any protest, and they made their way together toward the flickering candlelight in the window of the ranch house. He might know cattle and ranches, but she knew how much a human body could withstand, and this arm needed medical attention.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cory winced as Eloise peeled back his shirt, easing the fabric away from the wound. He hadn’t noticed t
he severity of the injury at the time. He’d been so focused on getting the calf to safety and Eloise to the shelter of the house that discovering his bloodied arm irritated him. The timing was miserable. He tossed his shirt into a wet heap on the kitchen floor while Eloise examined his arm, the first-aid kit next to her. Her cool fingers lingered on his shoulder and she made a soft tut of concern.

  Outside the window, the storm raged on, and he glanced toward the silent radio. He moved, intending to flick it on, when her grip grew firm on his shoulder.

  “Sit down,” Eloise said.

  “I was just going to—”

  “Sit.” Her tone grew stern and she shot him a no-nonsense look.

  Cory complied and sank into a kitchen chair next to his father’s wheelchair. She was generally soft-spoken, but when this woman gave an order, it was almost impossible to refuse. She crouched next to him, gently cleaning the blood away from the cut, and deposited the wet gauze pads beside him on the table.

  “Bossy, isn’t she?” the old man said, snickering.

  “This is pretty deep, Cory.” Eloise rose to her feet.“You can get away without stitches, but I’ll have to clean it out.” She opened the first-aid kit, and he couldn’t see what she was up to behind him. Instead he looked over at his father, who watched the process with a slight grimace on his weathered face.

  “What’s she doing?” Cory asked.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” his father replied, and gave him a wicked smile.

  “Bring those candles closer, would you?” she said.

  Cory slid the candles toward them, gritting his teeth against the ache as she pressed gauze into the wound.

  “That should do it,” she said. “Now, this might sting a little.”

  Cory didn’t answer. It wasn’t stitches, so it couldn’t be that bad.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “Yeah, go ahead,” he said, and he was met with a burning sensation so painful that he sucked in a breath past his teeth.

  “Are you done?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “Once more,” she replied cheerily. “Hold on...”

  Again the burning pain seared into the wound. When it subsided, Cory turned around and glared at the bottle in her hand.

  “What is that?” he demanded.

  “Iodine,” she replied. “Now sit still, would you?”

  His father rasped out a laugh. “She’s a mean one.”

  “Oh, hush,” she replied in good humor. “Trust me, this is much less painful than an infected wound. The worst is over.”

  Eloise moved his arm away from his body, and he held still while she wrapped gauze around his biceps, layer after layer. She moved slowly, her cool touch lingering against his skin as she adjusted the bandage. When she taped down the bandage, he reached back to gingerly touch her handiwork.

  “Now,” Cory said, turning to face her. “About today—”

  “You’re very welcome.” Eloise shot him a brilliant smile. “How does it feel?”

  He looked down at his arm. “Pretty good. Thanks.” She’d thrown him off his lecture. “About today, though—”

  “You, um, should probably go find a shirt,” she said quietly.

  He glanced toward his father, who shrugged. “Downright indecent,” the old man quipped. “Might as well go put something on.”

  Muttering irritably, Cory pushed himself off the chair. The house was still swathed in darkness, and he grabbed a candle from the table and headed out of the kitchen to his bedroom. He put the candle on his dresser before opening a drawer.

  In his head, he was still mentally lecturing Eloise about the dangers of storms and ranches while he pulled out a white T-shirt and eased it over his wounded arm.

  From the kitchen an enraged wail echoed through the house. Without another thought, Cory sprinted in the direction of the shout.

  * * *

  Eloise stared down in horror. The urn lay on its side, the ashes spread over the floor in a dusty spray.

  “What have you done?” the old man shouted.

  “Robert, I’m so sorry,” Eloise said. “I didn’t see it. I turned and—” She crouched down, attempting to scoop the ashes back into the container.

  “Don’t touch her.” Mr. Bessler trembled in rage.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked, sitting back on her heels. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Of course not,” the old man spat. “You never do, do you?”

  Eloise stared at her patient in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  “One thing matters to me. One! And that is to scatter my wife’s ashes.”

  “Robert, I didn’t—”

  “Ruth deserves respect. How did you ever become a nurse being so clumsy?”

  Mr. Bessler’s words stung, but she knew that they were rooted in fear. He wanted to scatter Ruth’s ashes, and his own mortality was looming large. She took a deep breath, refusing to fuel her patient any further.

  “What happened?” a voice rumbled, and Eloise looked up to see Cory’s broad shoulders filling the doorway.

  “That clumsy woman—”

  “Watch it.” There was warning in Cory’s tone.

  “I still pay you,” Mr. Bessler muttered, glowering in Eloise’s direction.

  “You should be grateful she stays,” Cory retorted. “If it weren’t for Eloise, you’d be at home alone. From what I can tell, you don’t have many people who care whether you live or die.”

  “Maybe I like it that way.” The old man’s eyes flashed fire.

  “And maybe you’re just a cranky old man who chases away everyone who cares about him.” Cory shrugged.

  Mr. Bessler narrowed his eyes and lifted a knobby finger. “You have no right to judge me.”

  “Maybe not.” Cory squatted down next to Eloise and cupped a hand, carefully scooping the ashes together into a pile. “But here’s the thing.” He moved slowly, carefully, his tone low and controlled. “I don’t like you talking to Eloise that way. She hasn’t done anything to deserve you berating her like that.”

  “Do you see what she did?” the old man asked.

  “An accident, yes. But I’ll tell you this—while no one else in your life seems to care about you, this woman does.” He lifted his gaze to meet the angry eyes of his father. “She thinks about your needs constantly. She has made your comfort her life’s work.”

  “A job,” the old man muttered.

  “She likes you.” Cory caught the old man’s gaze and held it. “You can’t pay someone to do that. She stands up for you. She points out the good in you.”

  Mr. Bessler sank into silence, and Cory continued scooping the ash back into the urn with careful, measured movements.

  “I don’t know why you think it’s all right to treat people like this, but Eloise deserves better from you. Whether you want to know me or not, I care how you treat Eloise.”

  The old man remained silent.

  “While you’re under my roof, you’ll treat her with the respect a lady is due.”

  “She’s no lady, she’s my nurse,” he attempted to joke. This was normally how Mr. Bessler’s bad temper ended, but his son didn’t seem to know the cues.

  “She’s every inch a lady.” Cory’s voice rang out low and direct.

  Silence settled over the room, and the old man shuffled his slippers uncomfortably.

  “Fine.” Mr. Bessler looked away, his jaw set.

  Cory set the urn back on the table, then looked at Eloise.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied.

  “I’ve got to go check on the herd. I’ll be back in a while.”

  He’d only just gotten back to the house,
and Eloise suspected he was making an excuse to get out of there again. The electricity flickered, then blazed on and Eloise squinted in the sudden light. Cory stood before her with hands balled up into frustrated fists, and her patient hunched irritably into his wheelchair.

  “No problem,” Eloise said.

  “I’ll see you both in a couple of hours.”

  As Cory headed to the mudroom and pulled on a rain jacket, Eloise mutely met her patient’s gaze. He gave her an apologetic shrug.

  “Sorry I yelled,” the old man muttered.

  “It’s okay.”

  The door banged shut as Cory left. The house felt emptier without him in it. Eloise felt mildly stunned. Mr. Bessler’s moodiness was par for the course, but Cory had just defended her honor, demanded that her patient treat her kindly, and then stomped out the door. She’d never had a man get that worked up about how she was treated, and the realization warmed her. She felt oddly protected, although she didn’t need the protection. She had been well in control of the situation.

  That was downright sweet, she admitted.

  “So you stand up for me, do you?” her patient inquired.

  “Of course,” Eloise replied. “That’s what friends do for each other.”

  The old man looked down. “Well, thank you.”

  She nodded.

  “Ruth was like that. She always did see something in me worth keeping.”

  Eloise pulled her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry I spilled Ruth.”

  “I’ve dumped her out twenty times by now.” Mr. Bessler batted his hand through the air. “She used to be twice as full as this.”

  Eloise smothered a grin. “Now that we’ve got some electricity, let’s get some supper on. What do you want to eat?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning, the sun peeked over the horizon, flooding the fields in pink. The storm from the day before had left a streak of clouds in its wake, white tufts tinged with fuchsia as the sun edged higher. The morning hung in dew-drenched stillness, only the twitter of birds breaking the silence. Eloise sat on a bench on the veranda, a sketchpad on her lap, but her mind wasn’t on her drawing this morning.